Dinner hadn't gone completely smoothly. To her credit, Orendi had done her best to listen to Phoebe's explanations of proper dinner etiquette. The only problem was the rules just seemed to keep coming and coming, and obeying them went against the very nature of being a varimorph. It was around the time that Phoebe chastised her for having her elbows resting on the table ("I HAVE FOUR OF THEM AND THEY GET TIRED! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?!") that Orendi finally snapped. She went to town on her piece of meat, stabbing it with every utensil she could get her hands on at least once, and usually multiple times. The filet mignon, prepared by the system's greatest chef, was nothing more than a ground pile of meat spread across her plate by the end of the lesson. Still, she had lasted longer than expected and managed to keep the destruction to her own end of the table, so Phoebe chalked it up as a win.
Another win was waking up to see that the Hemsworth Arcship hadn't been destroyed overnight. It was an understatement to say that Phoebe was nervous about having Orendi spending the night on her ship. She had vowed to sleep with one eye open, which didn't take too much of an effort for her. Phoebe had been a light sleeper ever since she had first spotted the tall, shadowy figures of Varelsi invaders outside her window when she was eight years old. But there had been no alarms, no call from Marquis, and apparently no trouble. Dealing with the witch's rampage, then being roped into giving her etiquette lessons and having dinner with her all within the same day had made her very tired, so she appreciated the good night's sleep.
Phoebe rolled over in her bed, planning on snoozing for a minute or thirty, but her eyes shot open as she noticed the sound of streaming water coming from her private bathroom. The shower was on. She kicked off her sheets, got out of bed, and hurried to her closet to pull her robe on over her nightgown. She approached the door to the bathroom, and as she got closer she heard another sound that stopped her dead in her tracks. It was unmistakably Orendi's voice, but she was...singing?
"A fire, that broils through your guts,
I open you up to see,
Death and kisses, warm and...uh...bloody?
Ugh, no that's terrible. Too obvious."
Phoebe knocked on the door. "What are you doing in there?"
The flow of water stopped and there was a scuffling sound. For a moment Phoebe wondered how much damage Orendi's claw-like toenails could do to the porcelain floor of her bathtub.
"Taking a shower. Duh."
"Oh. I never really thought you were one for, well, bathing. And what were you going on about with all that singing?"
The door to the bathroom slammed open and a towel clad Orendi launched herself across the threshold. She latched onto Phoebe, gripping her shoulders so she could look her straight in the eyes.
"FORGET YOU HEARD THAT! It's unfinished! All this etiquette stuff has thrown me off my game! It feels like some hack writer with no talent for free verse was putting words in my mouth!"
Phoebe pushed Orendi off and gave her a quizzical look. "You write free verse poetry?"
Orendi nodded. "Yeah, it's better than those types that always have some sort of dumb rule you have to follow. My good stuff is stored in my private terminal on the Nova for me alone, and my bad stuff gets forgotten. So like I said: FORGET IT! Don't make me chew out all your memory neurons! BECAUSE I WILL DO THAT!"
"OK, jeez," Phoebe said. "I get it. I've scrapped plenty of inventions and projects that didn't work out. Not everything can be a masterpiece. And I'm sure you've written some..."she paused, searching for an appropriate adjective,"...interesting poems."
"Oh. Well, maybe I'll let you know next time I have a good one. An artist can always use some constructive criticism," Orendi said, no longer meeting Phoebe's eyes.
"OK! Well then, I'm actually quite glad the topic of word-smithing came up!" Phoebe said, trying to change the topic as quickly as she could to avoid finding out what Orendi might consider good poetry. "It actually relates to today's first lesson!"
"What?"
Phoebe nodded. "I mentioned last night that we would be going to see my tailor today. Sandra is a very high class artisan, and I expect you to treat her with respect. So I will be teaching you how to speak eloquently and tastefully."
"What's wrong with the way I talk? I talk real good!" Orendi complained.
"You tend to speak rather loudly. And most people don't appreciate being threatened with having parts of their brains eaten. I'm going to shower now. You get dressed and meet me in my workshop in forty-five minutes."
Orendi moved towards the closet, grumbling something along the lines of "I didn't say I would eat them." Phoebe rolled her eyes and started preparing for the day.
A little more than forty-five minutes later, Orendi stood across from Phoebe in her workshop, arms folded over her chest. Phoebe held her main rapier in one hand and a large book in the other. Her other four rapiers floated behind her, waiting patiently for any instructions.
"We're going to be practicing with some lines from one of my favourite books: Sport of Senate Seats." Phoebe said. "It's about a young politician who leads a bloodless revolution by gaining public support for her progressive lawmaking. It's a really exceptional work of fantasy!"
"Bloodless? Sounds boring." Orendi commented.
"Well, it has some great examples of formal dialogue, so it's the perfect thing for you to practice with." said Phoebe. "Let's start with some polite greetings. Now, repeat after me: 'Good morning, Mister-'"
"Good morning to you too, meat sacks!" a robotic voice interrupted. ISIC trundled his way into the workshop, knocking over a lamp in the process.
Phoebe let the book fall to her side. "What do you want ISIC? I'm busy training Orendi for our dinner party."
"Actually, the dinner party was what I wanted to talk about. I just wanted to know if my buddy Kleese will be there and if he has any food allergies. I wouldn't want any sort of poison to fall into his food." He leaned closer to Orendi. "Wink."
"Oh please ISIC, could you be any more transparent? Marquis told me about the plot he overheard you talking about yesterday, everyone knows you still hate Kleese, and you just said "wink" out loud," Phoebe pointed out.
"Well, I don't have any eyelids to actually wink with," ISIC tried to defend himself.
"Not to mention poison is for wusses," Orendi piped up. "You can do better than that can't you?"
"And anyway, I haven't invited Kleese. The less people witness this inevitable disaster of a party the less my reputation will have to suffer." Phoebe concluded.
"That is true. I've run some calculations and simulations through my AI, and the odds of your party ending in some sort of chaos magic induced violence are indeed astonishingly close to one hundred percent." ISIC said, then he paused for a moment. "Which would mean that anyone who does attend will be putting themselves in certain danger. Hey! Look at the time. I'd better let you two get back to work." ISIC turned around and quickly made his way back towards the door.
"ISIC! Don't you even think about doing whatever it is you're thinking about doing!" Phoebe called after him. The rogue Magnus pretended not to hear her.
"Poison, sheesh," Orendi said after ISIC was out of auditory-input-shot. "And to think I once respected that guy as a killing machine. I mean, what's even the point if you can't feel the tearing of the-"
"Alright alright, that's enough!" One of Phoebe's rapiers floated over behind Orendi and poked her in the small of the back.
"Hey!"
"We have to focus! The appointment with Sandra is scheduled for just a few hours from now, so you have to learn this quickly. And stop slouching!" Another poke from the rapier.
"Stop that!" Orendi swatted at the sword, but stood up a little bit straighter.
"That's better. Now, let's try this again. Repeat after me: 'Good morning Mister Donnington. How was your meeting with the ambassador?'"
Orendi looked at her feet. "GoodmorningMisterDonnington. Howwasyourmeetingwiththeambassador?" she muttered the words as quickly as possible. The sword poked her in the back again.
"Look the person you are speaking to in the eyes. And speak clearly!" Phoebe instructed.
"Oh COME ON!" Orendi shouted. "This is about to make me retch! I can be polite without talking like an idiot from one of your boring high-society politics books!"
"Oh really?" said Phoebe. "Very well then, how would you plan to address Sandra when you meet her?"
Orendi raised one of her hands in a sort of wave. She probably thought it was a friendly gesture, but the eyeball-like turret blinking and looking from side to side in the center of her palm gave it a much more creepy feeling.
"Hi there Sandra! Don't worry, I have no plans to rip out your guts. Right now, anyway." Orendi folded her arms, and somehow Phoebe could tell she was smirking under her mask. "See? Polite and all natural!"
"I think we'll be sticking with the book." Phoebe said dryly. "Who knows? You might learn some new vocabulary to use in your poems."
To Phoebe's surprise, Orendi actually seemed to consider this notion.
"OK. Fine. Give me another sentence to practice. But this time give me one with a word that rhymes with 'viscera.'"
